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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24549355">on the cross for our sins</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteSheep/pseuds/WhiteSheep'>WhiteSheep</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Monsters [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Catholic Guilt, Demon Sex, Demon looks like a 20-something man, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Gentle Kissing, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, Human is 37, Human/Monster Romance, In more ways than one, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Priest Kink, Public Blow Jobs, Religion Kink, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Seduction, Temptation, Virginity or Celibacy Kink</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:13:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,585</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24549355</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteSheep/pseuds/WhiteSheep</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A demon walks into a church. The rest is history.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Male Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Monsters [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629994</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>316</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>on the cross for our sins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>DISCLAIM: This is a work of fiction meant only to entertain. The author does not condone any form of break of consent/rape.</p><p>Disclaim 2: PLEASE do not use this or any of my other stories as an example of what real and healthy sex is/should be (let's keep in mind that condoms are not <i>just</i> to prevent pregnancy. And if you're planning to stick something somewhere or let someone stick something in you, LUBE is your absolutely BEST FRIEND. Dry sex is only fun in theory!) and even LESS of what a healthy, nontoxic relationship is/should be.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A sense of general soreness seeps into their muscles as they step in the church, and the red-headed demon rolls their shoulders with an annoyed little tsk of their tongue. They lash their tail, feeling their wings bristling.</p><p>They don’t let it bother them, though.</p><p>Hands slipping on their pants pockets, they walk down the aisle, gazing around the place. There’s a barrel-shaped ceiling characteristic of churches and white walls, empty of decorations except for the occasional portrait of saints. All of which makes the altar – situated in front of a large replica of the Son of God on the Cross – more prominent. A white cloth with pomegranate details covers the table displaying candles, a basket fruit, and an open bible. The large window covering half the wall at the back allows in some lazy sun rays, filling the place with a late afternoon golden glow.</p><p>Abezethiel stops in front of the altar. Without deviating from their distracted analysis of the bronze sculpture hanging from the ceiling, they pluck a grape from the bowl and pops it into their mouth.</p><p>The fruit’s meat gives in under their teeth, and sweet juice pours over their tongue when a humorous voice says, "You’re not supposed to eat that."</p><p>Abezethiel levels their gaze to the right, still chewing. A mortal man is approaching, with charcoal hair neatly combed back, brandy eyes with laughing wrinkles and thin lips, hands clasped behind his back. Between the end of his third decade of life and the beginning of the fourth, he’s covered from the feet to the neck in black. Only a small white-collar breaks the somberness.</p><p>And the demon recognizes him as a priest, not by the impeccable, if a little well-worn, cassock but for the way the discomfort in their bones increases with each step the human takes.</p><p><em>The real deal, huh</em>. Abezethiel hums after swallowing the grape. “It seemed like a waste. They look tasty,” they drawl, hand slipping back into their suit pocket.</p><p>The priest smiles. “Don’t worry. They only stay on the altar for a day, then they go to our kitchen.”</p><p>They hum and turn back to the examination of the giant cross. “Your Jesus is ripped, by the way.”</p><p>A pleasant laugh echoes as the mortal stops by their side. “Ah, yes. Our followers agree, but it was a gift. We couldn’t exactly refuse it and it’s not like we have anywhere else to put a 26-foot cross on our church.”</p><p>“A gift, huh.” Abezethiel leans back on their heels. “It’s made of, what, bronze? It looks expensive.”</p><p>“Brass, actually. Made from recycled scraps. Took the girl almost a whole year to make it,” the priest says, voice shining with pride and not a hint of irking at Abezethiel ‘s provocation.</p><p>Really, not a hint. They sniff the human’s soul and don’t get anything – it’s like he didn’t even hear it.</p><p>A smile curls at the corner of their mouth while they roll back on the sole of their feet, heels making a soft thud on the polished floor. Letting their head dip forward enough that their red hair hangs in front of their chest, they let their eyes hover over the fruits, relaxed shoulders hunched forward – with the sunglasses, they know the image they are painting is of someone deep in thought. Reflecting. And they are, in a way.</p><p>It was instinct that guided them to the church, a place they’d have normally dismissed. Since they know better than to think they’ll find genuine souls in places that well-maintained.</p><p>
  <em>Who knew.</em>
</p><p>“What’s your name?” the priest asks like they knew he’d.</p><p>They tilt their head to the side. “Hmm, isn’t polite to offer your name first?”</p><p>The man blinks. “Oh. Forgive me.” He removes a hand from behind his back and offers it. “I’m Lucas.”</p><p>Abezethiel holds it after a beat, fingers curling in a gentle grip.</p><p>“Call me Abel,” the demon says, the holy name rolling out of their tongue sour and sharp.</p><p>Father Lucas blinks again, surprised, and then smiles and squeezes their hand back. "Nice to meet you, Abel." His expression is one of honest feeling, the name resounding a little stronger around them in everything but volume. “Is there some way I can help you today?”</p><p>“Oh, I don't know, I just felt like looking,” they explain, letting their hand fall on their side after releasing the priest's.</p><p>Lucas interlocks his fingers over his belly. “Would you like a guide, then? I can tell you about the history of this place.”</p><p>“History?”</p><p>The man's smile becomes fond, eyes flicking to the open space around them. “Every loved place has a history. This church is not different.”</p><p>Abezethiel chuckles then gesture to the side. “After you, Father.”</p><p>-</p><p>The sun is beginning to fade behind the horizon, casting long shadows onto the world. Abezethiel reaches out for a yellow beam breaking away from the glass window above the door. Warm light plays between their fingers, showing the dust particles hanging in the air. Lucas trails off beside them, the cheer of his voice lingering a moment longer in the great place.</p><p>“I have been talking for quite a while, haven’t I?” They turn at the priest’s embarrassed tone.</p><p>“Hm, around 45 minutes, judging by the light.”</p><p>The man folds behind his back the hands he was using to merrily illustrate his narrative. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to-…” He laughs a bit, flustered. “I tend to babble when the subject is one I’m fond of. Please, feel free to interrupt me.”</p><p>Abezethiel smiles, still toying with the dying sunlight. “It’s the nature of an orator, isn’t it?”</p><p>“I… guess. Still, I took a lot of your time.”</p><p>“Nah, don’t worry. It was interesting.” It’s not a lie. <em>A ‘loved place’ indeed</em>, they reflect while casting a glance over the long barrel vault ceiling, made of white and golden arches with lamps placed at the ends, so as to cast light over the panels and have it reflected downwards. Resulting in a soft, more natural illumination that doesn’t hurt the eye – the work of Lucas’ grandparents, idea of his grand-aunt. The colorful glass window made by his grandmother, the floor and the benches by his parents… the finer decorations by Lucas himself.</p><p>This whole place is family-made, the product of at least four generations working with their own hands. Not from riches, but hard work and dedication. No wonder their very bones hurt from simply stepping inside this place. Such a rarity it is, hidden amidst the ugly, grey city. <em>A fine finding indeed</em>.</p><p>Abezethiel breathes in and the very air burns the inside of their lungs. They smile at the human priest as the last sunlight fades, stuffing hands in their pockets. “You’re a good storyteller.”</p><p>Lucas smiles back, expression happy even though his face is still a little bit flushed. “You flatter me. I’m glad to hear you liked it.”</p><p>“Mn, will you tell me the rest next time?”</p><p>“Next- Oh, are you perhaps thinking about joining our church?” He sounds joyful.</p><p>“Nothing that drastic. Churches are not my thing.”</p><p>Lucas makes a curious sound, not a hint of judgment in his voice. “Not a religious person?”</p><p>Abezethiel smiles. “Just by default.”</p><p>The human blinks, mouthing the word ‘default’ quietly as if trying to make sense of it. The demon snorts. <em>Well, it’s not like not believing is a choice for me</em>, they wonder the reaction if they were to say that. The unbendable truth of the scars on a body that doesn’t scar. A reminder, as if the cold, harsh emptiness where before there was light and love weren’t enough. Where God’s endless mercy found its end – because falling from His Grace is not something you’re allowed to <em>forget</em>. Which it’s petty if you ask them. Not that they see it as a point of displeasure or a character flaw. Pride is not their sin of choice.</p><p>Anyway, it’s fine.</p><p>This is preferable, in an overall picture.</p><p>They remove a hand from the pants’ pockets to wave. “See you later, Father,” they say in a lazy drawl before turning to leave.</p><p>“Ah, it- it was my pleasure, Abel,” the priest stammers from behind them, caught off guard by sudden departure.</p><p>Patience it’s considered a virtue, although it is so common among their sort – you don’t see <em>them</em> burning entire cities overnight or flooding the world to prove a point, after all. One soul at the time, step by step, brick by brick. You can burn a kingdom in one day but the opposite would be nothing less than miracles and works of the divine and it has been one or two millennia since He decided to take a step back. Like a father ignoring an upset child to teach them a lesson through this act of abandonment, without explaining it to them in the first place.</p><p>Better for their lot, of course.</p><p>-</p><p>The second time they appear on the church as quietly and discreet as before, and he’s still the one who approaches them first, changing from his original path the second their eyes meet. “Abel,” he greets, sympathetic because he is the type who remembers the face and name of everyone he meets. Not because of inherent political sensibility but rather an inherent wish to meet new people.</p><p>It helps Abezethiel can feel the man’s loneliness, even if he is not the melancholy type. He misses his parents, who died a few years ago, and laments not having siblings. He has several colleagues and acquaintances and talks to everyone he meets. But for someone who dedicates his life to what he thinks is a genuine way to help the world, sleeping and living in a church instead of returning to a home and a family... well, let's say humanity's willingness to be unhappy still mystifies them, even after so many years.</p><p>“Father,” they say and let their tone bordering on simple politeness. They watch the mortal’s joyful countenance falter and Abezethiel smiles, not moving from where he’s still half-turned to the doors. “How are you?”</p><p>“I’m… fine. And you?”</p><p>“Couldn’t be better.”</p><p>The mortal man stops a few steps away and rests his hands over the stomach, fingers interlaced. There’s a beat of hesitation, and then he asks. “Are you leaving already?”</p><p>Abezethiel scratches their throat in a thoughtful gesture, tilting their head towards the man. “Are you planning on telling me the rest of the story?”</p><p>Hands disentangle and Lucas rubs a thumb against an open palm. An unconscious gesture while the priest smiles a little uncertainly. “If you want to. I wouldn’t want to take your time again.”</p><p>They hum and then nod towards the part of the church where they stopped before. “After you.”</p><p>-</p><p>“You ought to talk too, you know,” Father Lucas chides without heat while they walk through the garden. He is embarrassed again.</p><p>“23 minutes this time.”</p><p>“Please don't tease me.”</p><p>“I’m not. You’re telling me a story, why would I interrupt it?”</p><p>The man sighs a little. “This is supposed to be a conversation, you know.”</p><p>“It is?”</p><p>He turns away but the demon can see the faint red worming its way up the pale neck. “I already said you can interrupt me if I start monologuing. This feels very one-sided, you know? You know my whole family history by now.”</p><p>“You make it sound like you didn't want me to know. If so, you have a very confusing way of showing it.”</p><p>Lucas laughs a little. “That's fair, I guess. People say I tend to overshare a little bit,” he says lightly enough but Abezethiel can see his hands curling together on the small of his back, a tad bit tighter than a casual gesture. And they first picture a fisherman, throwing a net over the river hoping to catch something, then right after they correct the imagery: not a net but a little can, with a string punched through the bottom and connected to another can he's holding behind his back.</p><p>Abezethiel smiles and turns to look forward. The church's backyard is filled with roses bushes and as they pass by one, they slow down to a stop and reach for a bud not yet open. “I'm new to the city. Well, not <em>new</em>, I had been here before, but it's the first time I'm staying for so long.”</p><p>Father Lucas stops right as they did. “Why is that?”</p><p>“Work. I'm a… Salesman. For a service company.”</p><p>“Really? Which one?” he sounds genuinely curious.</p><p>“Ah, it’s very obscure. I doubt you’ll know it.”</p><p>“Oh… So, you're here to sell something to someone?”</p><p>Trailing the bud stalk with the point of their finger, the demon leans forward to grip where it meets the mainstem, uncaring of the thorns ripping their skin. “A contract basically demanding their soul in exchange for our services.”</p><p>Lucas’ hesitation hangs on the air behind them. “That doesn't seem…”</p><p>“Nice? No, it’s not. It’s a hell of a job. Satan's work and all that.”</p><p>“Blasphemy,” the man says and for the first time, there’s something resembling disapproval in his tone of voice, almost like a reproach. Almost.</p><p>Abezethiel chuckles and breaks off the stalk with a twist of their wrist, bringing the rosebud closer to their eyes for a more throughout inspection. “It's the truth. There’s nothing redeemable about what I do.”</p><p>“Then why don’t you stop?”</p><p>“Because I'm too good at it.” They turn to Lucas, seeing the way he's trying very hard to be impassive and supportive of what he must think it’s a confession of some sort – and to be fair, if it was a human instead, this mask of neutrality would have worked. But Abezethiel can taste the slight uneasy underneath his skin, the way the words he’s not uttering bitters the back of his tongue because, in the end, it's <em>humanly</em> impossible to be a truly impartial listener.</p><p>They take a step towards the man, bringing them just a touch closer than social convention allows. Lucas immediately tenses a little, breath wavering in surprise. It stops altogether for a heartbeat when the demon casually slips the rosebud between the buttons of his cassock above the chest. “And it’s already too late for me, anyway,” they say, “so might as well make the trip worthy. Here, if you put in a vase it’ll bloom nicely.”</p><p>Eyes in crescent moons behind the sunglasses, they smile.</p><p>Lucas' eyes are a little wide when he averts his gaze to the ground. “That's…” He clears his throat and takes a discreet step back. His hand raises and almost touch the rose, fingers halting before doing so. “T… thank you.”</p><p>“Well, it's yours in the first place, so.”</p><p>He lets out a clumsy, awkward laugh, and shakes his head once. “You… talking about ‘too late’ when you're still so young. There's no need to be so pessimistic, son. You have plenty of time to change your life if you want to.”</p><p>Abezethiel tilts their head, hands in their pockets once more. <em>Young</em>, huh. “Perhaps I'm older than you think.”</p><p>“You can't be older than 25.”</p><p>The demon hums. “And how old are <em>you</em>, Father?”</p><p>Lucas runs a hand over his neck, a self-conscious gesture. “37 in a few months.”</p><p>“Hah, you’re the one thinking you’re too old.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” he agrees softly and then finally rests his fingertips over the chest, just under the rosebud. “But I’m satisfied with my life as it is. If… you’re not, then why not change it? You’re young and free. You can give up this salesman job and do whatever is you want.”</p><p>“A nice thought.” Abezethiel tilts their head. “But just a thought. I too sold my soul to this company, you know. That's how they get new employees in the first place. I’m to work for them until the day I die or die working for them, whatever comes first.”</p><p>The man puckers his brow, biting his lips as if to physically stop his next words.</p><p>The demon waves their hand in a dismissive manner. “Let’s stop this gloomy topic. You were telling me about the garden.”</p><p>Lucas glances down to the rosebud and then gently removes it, careful with the thorns catching the fabric. “Just… answer me this. Have you contacted the person you’re supposed to sell this contract to?”</p><p>“Hmn? Yes. Why?”</p><p>Abezethiel watches curiously as the human cradles the bud on his open palm, expression a little sad. “Well, it’s not like it’s a certain sale, right? So-”</p><p>“Oh, no, it is.”</p><p>Lucas blinks once, confused. “But you said-”</p><p>The demon turns to continue walking. “They will buy it. There’s no doubt about it.”</p><p>“How can you be so sure?” he asks, puzzled, following them.</p><p>
  <em>Pride.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That's not your sin.</em>
</p><p>They smile.</p><p>“I'm just that good.”</p><p>-</p><p>Father Lucas invites them for morning and weekend sessions, stating that even though they aren't religious, there are people in the community with whom he thinks they'd get along. <em>Working young men</em>, as he puts it, because although Abezethiel didn't confirm nor denied the suggested age, Lucas seems to have taken his assumption as correct anyway. He starts suffering from bouts of self-awareness from time to time after the conversation in the garden. It’s easy enough to see in the way he will glance at them and then follow up with an invitation to the next session with younger crowds.</p><p>He seems to have shouldered the responsibility of finding a more… adequate company for Abel. As if the imaginary eleven years age gap between the two made him insufficient somehow, for whatever God-sent reason.</p><p>Considering Abezethiel is older than humanity itself, it’s endearing at the same proportion it's hilarious.</p><p>“I’m fine like this,” they say on the fourth offer, “My only free time is in the afternoon, and besides, no god could make me wake up earlier than I already do, or earlier at all at the weekends. No offense.”</p><p>Lucas laughs a little, creasing the faint wrinkles around his eyes. “No, it’s fair. It’s a lot to ask.”</p><p>“Hm, a lot of love for God.”</p><p>“Yes.” He is amused.</p><p>“You know, I feel like you should be scolding me.”</p><p>They are both sitting side by side on the front bench and Abezethiel has their ankles crossed on top of the wood panel they are fairly sure people use to rest their hands when in pray. They have their arms draped behind the backrest, his black suit jacket open showing the burgundy shirt with no tie, and the first two buttons popped open, their collarbones framed by their red locks. With sunglasses perched on the nose, their aim is not to be obviously obnoxious but to test how far they can go before Father Lucas does or say something – he has yet to ask them to remove the sunglasses even when they are both indoors.</p><p>They thought the feet would do it. But the man just hums, keeping his hands folded on his lap and expression tranquil.</p><p>He really doesn’t seem to mind.</p><p>“Some say regular attendance is a requirement and while I'm not one of them, you're still coming here on your own volition. That's more than most. So, I don’t think it’d fair for me to ask you to come in the morning instead. Nor it's my place to do such a thing. The church is an open place. People can come and go as their will demands.”</p><p>Abezethiel rubs their ear at the implications of what the man just said, and they are more and less forced by their very nature to reply, “It’s not like I'm praying or anything.” <em>Let’s make this one clear</em>. And then the final touch: “I like talking with you. That's it. Don’t make this into something… <em>nobler</em>, than its.”</p><p>They watch the way Lucas smiles. A soft curve of his lips, small and quiet. “Even less a reason, then, for me to demand anything. I also like our friendly conversations.”</p><p>The demon hums and bending their arm to bring a hand under their chin, they turn to the priest. And ask, keeping their voice low. “Can I come more often, then?”</p><p>The man blinks one, two times at them, mouth opening slightly. He hesitates, however. Closing his mouth, he darts his gaze away with a bit of uncomfortableness in the line of his shoulders, an inch of tenseness.</p><p>But after a few seconds, he nods.</p><p>-</p><p>Ankle over the knee, Abezethiel accepts the coffee. “Thanks, Father,” they say, glancing down at the black liquid letting out little swirls of steam as Lucas sits with his own mug on the other side of the small table.</p><p>The small window over the stove allows them to see the dark sky and it is the first time Abezethiel has stayed beyond the sunset. Because the moment they stood up to leave Lucas offered a cup of coffee.</p><p>The kitchen has the size and form you’d expect to see in a home, with white tile floor and pastel beige walls full of cabins. They are situated farther back and away from the door and unlike the large, opulent dining room they passed through on the way here, the atmosphere is homey. All activity quieted down, with the last nuns having finished cleaning the kitchen a few minutes ago.</p><p>It is possible to hear the silence of the entire church.</p><p>The priest smiles. “I told you already. Lucas is fine.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Not commenting, they bring the mug to their lips, swallowing the scalding liquid without minding the burn.</p><p>Lucas sighs, and takes himself a careful sip. Abezethiel keeps their mug in front of their face, watching through the steam as the human gently puts his mug down on the table, both hands around the ceramic as if trying to seep its heat – it’s a cold night, the demons supposes, although for them any temperature up here seems freezing. “I was thinking,” Lucas begins, slowly, looking down into his coffee, “you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I was just curious.”</p><p>Abezethiel grunts for him to go on.</p><p>“I know you said you are not religious, so I was just wondering about your name.”</p><p>“Ah, yes, the first murder victim. Beautiful, huh?”</p><p>Lucas frowns a little. “Abel comes from the reconstructed word for ‘herdsman’, and after his death, he was appointed as a judge of souls. He symbolizes the desire for justice. I think it’s a noble name.”</p><p>Abezethiel, who was present for both the birth and death of Abel and all the tidbits in between no one saw fit to write in the bible, smooths their smile into something easier. From a human perspective, their words make more sense as a sarcastic retort, after all, and they find too amusing watching Lucas defending their choice of name from themselves to say anything else.</p><p>They take another sip. “Mn, my father certainly thinks so. He’s the one who came up with the name.”</p><p>“Your father?”</p><p>“Real fan of the whole faith thing.” They hide their lips and their curved bow behind the mug. “A bit too much, if you ask me. You’d love our Christmas postcard, with everyone’s names written on the back.”</p><p>“They are all…?”</p><p>“Biblical? Yep. Most, at least.” Most of the big shots got their names written down, but not all of them. There are a few hundreds of demons no human ever lived past the meeting part, so they managed to stay under the radar. Incredibly useful to creatures whose names have an actual power, it being more than just a combined set of sounds to draw their attention like with humans.</p><p>Lucas leans forward, arms resting on the table with the mug forgotten between his hands. “Your parents were religious, then?” He asks, in the sort of tone of someone trying to reign in their curiosity to something more acceptable.</p><p>“Just one. No mom to speak of.”</p><p>He blinks, looks regretful, and with the start of an apology on his lips until Abezethiel waves it off with a lazy gesture, their entire body language relaxed to show they don’t mind. They don’t, of course, feel anything towards the absence of another figure in their creation (since you can't miss something that never existed), but sometimes they wonder if God does.</p><p>After all, He brought everything into being alone but made so that for most creatures, it’s a job for at least two participants.</p><p>What a funny thought.</p><p>Taking a pause, hesitating, Lucas finally nods. “Then… your father named you and your siblings?”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>“Is he…” He bites his lower lip briefly as if biting his words.</p><p>“You can ask. I won't bite.”</p><p>The man let his eyes fall down and finally asks the question he has been ruminating about since the beginning of this conversation, “Is your father the reason why you lost your faith?”</p><p><em>He's the one who booted me out of it, actually</em>. Although, can it be called faith when you <em>know</em> it's real? If the requirement is simply believing in God, then it’s a moot point since Abezethiel knows God is real just as much as they know they’ve been cast out of Heaven for all eternity.</p><p>They shrug, resting a cheek on one hand. “The reason? No. But I can’t deny he was in the overall situation that led me there.”</p><p>“If… if you don't mind me asking…”</p><p>“Do you really wanna know?”</p><p>“You know my whole family’s history by now,” they point out, not in demand as much as an offer.</p><p>Abezethiel puts the mug down and folds their arms to lean on them. “Yours were nice. A family banding together through generations to make a dream come true? That's the sort of stuff you see in the news in the morning. Mine is the nasty gossip from the backwater town everybody knows about but don’t speak of.” The table is not big, and their forearms end up brushing against Lucas' fingers, who swallows, eyes darting away and back a few times, the unexpected press of Abezethiel's shaded eyes apparently a bit too much so suddenly.</p><p>There's a faint blush starting to bloom on his cheeks.</p><p>“You don't… don't have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.”</p><p>“Hmm… do you know that whole spiel about how a parent always loves their kids equally?”</p><p>Lucas looks back at them. The demon smirks.</p><p>“I don't know if it's true for other people, but in my family? Favoritism was not only embraced, but my old man also made a point of letting everyone know <em>who</em> he loved more and <em>why</em>. And for the first part of our lives, his favorite kid was my big brother, which made him grow up kind of pampered, you know?” they drawl the words, tilting their head and observing the way Lucas follows the movement with his eyes a bit wide. “Then, one day out of the blue, daddy dear brought home another kid. And his favoritism had <em>obviously</em> shifted. Had we doing everything for them, from cleaning to feeding and watching over. Some didn't think it was fair, most of all the ex-golden child, who didn't like being a glorified nanny. You can guess how was his reaction.”</p><p>“Not great,” Lucas says and it sounds a bit weak, his fingers tense around the mug.</p><p>“Hmm, to be fair, it took him a while to snap. But when he did-… well, let's say it was <em>not</em> pretty and my old man wasn't about to allow one of his kids to disrespect him under his roof. Kicked my brother and everyone else who agreed with him out on the streets with only the clothes on their back and shut the door. Made an example of them to everyone else.”</p><p>“That's… that's awful.”</p><p>Abezethiel slides fingers across the locks behind their left ear and hangs his head forward, red hair slipping over their shoulder. “People tend to think my old man did the right thing, you know?” they say lightly.</p><p>Lucas frowns a little. “Kicking a child from their home because they disagreed with an unfair treatment is a horrible thing to do.”</p><p>“You might not have the whole picture. I kind summarized a <em>lot</em> of that shitshow.”</p><p>“Still,” the priest insists, “a child is a reflection of their parent's skills in raising them. And it was your father who first installed such toxic, competitive environment between siblings. He should have taken responsibility for the consequences of doing so, not the opposite.”</p><p>“So, you’re saying—”</p><p>“Your father was in the wrong.”</p><p>Oh. <em>Oh</em>. There's a sweet, delighted <em>purr</em> building inside their chest and wanting to climb up their throat, and Abezethiel has to fight down the urge to lick the corner of their mouth like a salivating beast, for all that the <em>loveliest</em> feelings are rising deep within them like the high of a drug. They lean on an elbow, chin supported on their palm as their fingers brush over their parted lips, the temptation of biting their nails like a teased lover making their tail lash around, wings curling heavy on their lower back. Even though Abezethiel feels like a teased lover. ‘<em>Your father was in the wrong’</em> – <em>Oh, Lucas, don't be mean to me like that</em>.</p><p>They are smiling, the corners of their open mouth curling and exposing teeth but Lucas doesn't seem to notice it is not a very human-like expression, perhaps because of the hand. But he <em>does</em> notice something, some change in Abezethiel. He shifts slightly, fingers tapping uncertainly on the mug. “You don't think so?”</p><p>Abezethiel slowly licks the edge of their teeth and bite the tip of their tongue for a moment, before they manage to regain control enough to talk without purring. “I was also kicked out, Father. What do you think?”</p><p>The mortal man draws his eyebrows together and the tapping stops. He lets go of the mug to reach across the table, sliding a warm palm over the back of Abezethiel’s own hand and the demon wants to bring it to their mouth, slip his fingers over their tongue and taste them, hear the noise he'd make if they were to suck each one. Not<em> yet</em>.</p><p>“I'm sorry, Abel,” he says quietly, looking sad.</p><p>They smile something gentle and turn their hand enough to lightly press their fingertips over his pulse, curling under his palm. Lucas’ heartbeat makes a mistake and he jolts a little at the touch, sympathetic expression waning into something different. “Thank you.”</p><p>The man clears his throat, averting his gaze away. “O-… of course.”</p><p><em>Not yet</em>.</p><p>-</p><p>Clawed hands slip under the soft pillow as they nuzzle his neck, mattress shifting and creaking softly with the additional weight of their real form. Their wings are arched possessively, white feathers brushing the floor beside the bed, their tail swerving in the air as their mouth filled with fangs open wide to graze gently over delicate skin, tongue slithering out and tasting the blood filling such fragile veins.</p><p>They press themselves down slowly, draping over Lucas laying on his back under the blankets, black hair messy over the white pillow. The man’s calm breathing changes a bit and he moves instinctively, hands raising from their shelter under the blanket to Abezethiel’s exposed torso and finding the curve of their ribcage, spreading open as if to push away – but they don’t. His head turns towards the demon kissing his jaw, under his ear and behind, eyebrows pulling together a little, lips parting to allow passage to a soft inhale of air. Not an expression of discomfort. Not an expression of displeasure. His fingers curl over their back and the demon is smiling wide, eyes falling half-closed in satisfaction as they nibble tenderly the cute curve of his ear.</p><p>“Father Lucas…” they mumble, voice low and affectionate, “… hey, Father Lucas…”</p><p>The man stirs, rising from his slumber at the pace of Abezethiel’s kisses over his cheekbone… eyebrow… forehead… descending to the corner of his mouth. Brushing against his lips and tasting his quiet exhale, eyelids slow and sluggish to open and reveal warm cinnamon eyes. “… wha…” his voice trails off, his gaze hazy and distant as it falls onto the demon. The small wrinkle between the man’s eyebrows deepens. “A… bel…?” his voice is hoarse, confused.</p><p>Abezethiel hums, lips still curved. “Hello, Father.”</p><p>“W…what…” The fingers over their skin tremble, and they feel as much as they can see Lucas’ eyes fluttering over their appearance, wavy red hair like a mane around their neck and their long bangs parted around the horns curving up from their forehead, the blackness enwrapping their golden irises. The human heartbeat spikes, bringing him to full consciousness and the priest tenses underneath them, breathing freezing as his eyes widen. “W- why… are you…”</p><p>“Hmm… is this how you see me, Father?” Abezethiel mumbles as they lean over him, hair falling like a curtain on the pillow, red and black mingling while reaching for a hand on their waist. Bringing it towards their face, they guide his fingers towards the horns and watch as the man swallows, eyes following the movement. “What am I? A demon…?” Sovereign wings rise from where they break through their lower back, spreading slowly open above them with moonlight filtering through the white feathers. Lucas immediately looks at them with a shaken expression. “… or perhaps an angel?”</p><p>“I- I…”</p><p>“Perhaps both?” They bring his hand to their lips, kissing the knuckles and fingers, raising their body to an almost kneeling position, still curved over the human – who can’t avoid glancing down the line of their body. Lucas inhales sharply, with a jolt that melts into quivering as he finally realizes they are completely naked, the smooth skin of their thighs fading into golden fur and pale claws that dig on the mattress from where their hindlegs are placed at each side of him. His realization is clear in the way the priest looks so terribly frightened when he looks back at them, heart loud and wild.</p><p>“Perhaps… something else? Am I your messiah, Father Lucas?” Abezethiel croons softly, his name rolling out in a sweet trill, tongue gliding between their teeth and then out, swirling around a finger before drawing it into their mouth and gently sucking. Lucas flinches, eyes closing tight for a moment, the other hand sliding down from their waist to spread open on their stomach. Shaking. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pull away. Abezethiel opens their mouth, letting his finger slide free as they move to lick his palm, his wrist, between and across his other fingers, slicking it with their saliva and feeling his twitches and starts – feeling him shiver, his eyes opening to glance down and watch as the demon takes his hand lower, lower lip between his teeth. Only to close again, tight and afraid and with a taint of color in his skin as they wrap his subtly quivering fingers around their already hard, throbbing cock.</p><p>Abezethiel slowly drags his hand up and down, making him feel it pulse, and lets out a moan at the feeling of his skin against theirs. “Do you dream often about me like this?” they wonder in a purr, knowing he doesn't, not like this. They would've felt his lust even from a dream, as they felt every time the human dreamt about them, about their conversations and his worries and his longing for more of their company – they feel how the human is but a few steps away from the edge, almost falling. Hesitating. Scared.</p><p>The demon leans down on one elbow, lazily brushes their tongue over his pulse, feeling the wild heartbeat under the skin. The well-worked hand fits nicely under their palm and slide with a soft, wet sound as they let their breath roll over the skin under the human's ear, feeling the way he shivers with a shaky inhale, free fingers curling on Abezethiel's stomach. “Your sinful savior, that you desire for yourself…” Their nose under his jawline, kissing his throat. His Adam’s apple – and what a cute, wonderful name – bobs under their lips as Lucas tilts his head back, swallowing. “You want me, don't you?” His lips press together when Abezethiel slides their mouth up, the human breathing a little faster through the nose, flushing in a deeper red. He lets out a small pleading sound when the demon presses a kiss on the corner of his mouth, brown eyes screwing shut.</p><p>“A-Abel…”</p><p>They can hear the rush of his blood, his heart pumping so fast. They cup the human’s jaw and pull it to their direction. Nothing the man couldn’t escape from. Gentle. Slow. Abezethiel tilts their head slightly, sliding their mouth over his and pressing lightly an innocent peck. Nothing too heavy, an almost guiltless touch.</p><p>“Touch me, Father…” They mumble with a hint of pleading, of <em>need</em>.</p><p>The man inhales a sharp, weak breath, cheeks hot. “I…”</p><p>“I want you too. Father. Lucas… ah, Lucas, please…” They buck slightly against his hand, wings closing around them both, tail curling and uncurling slowly. They breathe out their little whines across his lips, begging. “… <em>more</em>…”</p><p>Lucas swallows thickly, they can feel the goosebumps on his skin--… and then slowly… They let go of his hand, shuddering with a low moan as his fingers squeeze gingerly, thumb tracing along the crown, then lightly tracing the sides, underneath, hand pushing down and brushing over their base with an almost inquisitive touch. Delicate. Inexperienced. The hand on their stomach clench tighter for a moment before moving down, joining its sister after a brief faltering and Abezethiel groans in approval as another set of calloused and yet soft finger slide around them, a fingertip caressing the leaking slit. The demon parts their lips slightly to slide their tongue over Lucas’ bottom lip— the man breathes in shallow, shaking so badly-… but his own mouth doesn’t close, opens up a little. And the demon greedily reaches for more and they can taste the small sound the man makes as they deepen the kiss, their tongue passing between his lips into the warmth of his mouth. A whimper, a small gasp, the hand pleasuring them vacillating.</p><p>He knows nothing about kissing, Abezethiel realizes and the implications of this don’t elude them. Innocence. Pureness. <em>Is this his first kiss?</em> Abezethiel feels a thrill climbing their back. They gently touch the hands between them, reassuring, helping them move again as they lavishly taste Lucas with a moaning of lovely relish, gently coaxing his tongue to do the same. <em>Is this his first temptation?</em></p><p>His breathing is a little faster, his grip a little too unsteady. Abezethiel doesn’t mind, groaning as his clumsy fingers drag up and down in long, fumbling strokes, exploring and caressing, shy but attempting his best. They find their hips shifting without they meaning to, their delight being poured into the man’s mouth, and Lucas answers with his fierce blush and quiet pants. The sheer girth barely allows him to grasp it at once one-handed, one bracing it at the base as the other courses over them, smearing the copious batch of pre they are producing over every inch with a soft, wet sound. A sigh seeps from Abezethiel as their eyes slip almost shut, their claws kneading over the mattress.</p><p>“Don’t stop…” they break from the kiss to moan, leaving the man panting and shivering. They press their foreheads together, letting their expression flow freely at the waves of pleasure. “More…ahm…”</p><p>His touch shifts, fingers wrapped around them all slicked and hot and moving a bit faster, stroking over their every sensitive spot as he slides over the head and all the way to the base, gently squeezing. “Like… this?” Lucas asks, voice hoarse and thin. A soft, hungry growl kindles in their throat as endless gobs of pre gush from their tip in warning, cock throbbing fat, and their head slides to the mattress, their hips rocking against his touch. Lucas presses his forehead against their neck, drawing deep, fast breaths now.</p><p>“Y…yes…” Their hands seize the sheet, their feathers spreading open as they groan, back muscles trembling and flexing. Their combined breathings make a mellow tune on the empty, simple bedroom, the slick slide of skin on skin and the rustle of bedsheets. Tiny pants leak from the mortal man as his thighs press together under the demon, the smell of his arousal like melted sugar on their tongue and Abezethiel finally feels the tension building toward a moment of climax with a swell in their moans, arms and hindlegs flexing to eagerly roll their hips against Lucas’ hands, dizzy with pleasure. Then a single, powerful wave rushes through their body, and Abezethiel wraps tightly around the man, snarling faintly, tail lashing, their length pulsing heavily in his palms as they fire off the first thick shot. White spills between them both, seeping into the blanket over his stomach and chest as Lucas shivers, gasping softly. Trembling together, they grind into his touch that stills, fingers firm around them as sheets tears under their claws until, puffing out their breath at last, the demon sag altogether.</p><p>Their wings lower to the floor, tail calming down on the bed. They are panting softly and humming in satisfaction, as well as Lucas, puffing at air thick with the fragrant musk of demonic lust as their bodies press together. Curve to curve, almost perfectly. “A… Abel…” his voice is a rasp against their neck. His hands still trapped between them both are wet, just like the blanket.</p><p>They gently hold his wrist and move down, red hair dragging across Lucas’ heaving chest as they lick his palm, the bitterness of their own seed mixing with the sweetness of the mortal’s skin and they hear him inhaling sharply. The other hand under their stomach hesitates, then slowly moves up and Abezethiel tilts their head against his damp touch without a care, that so lightly slides to cup their cheek – they look up as their tongue slithers between fingers, swallowing cum and saliva, meeting Lucas’ conflicted expression, eyes soft and wet.</p><p>He gently removes his hands from their grasp, fingers moving closer to his mouth. There’s a waver in his face, a pause--… then the demon watches as he tentatively licks one of his own fingertips.</p><p>He shakily breathes out, eyes then screwing shut and he presses the back of his hand against his mouth, fingers curled tight. His face is flushed and expression miserable as he sobs softly, quietly. Abezethiel hushes him lovingly, mouth curved in a smile kissing him above an eyebrow and Lucas slides his arms around their neck in a hug, moving his face away only to bury it onto their neck, squeezing tightly as he starts crying, shoulders trembling. “I d-don’t…”</p><p>They hug him back.</p><p>“Thank you, my dear.”</p><p>-</p><p>“Is everything alright, Father?”</p><p>The man flinches slightly – a sudden small jolt of his shoulders, his already nervous heartbeat messing up with the systole and diastole and the demon can almost hear the splash of blood inside his chest, as the muscles contract at the wrong time with the surge of adrenaline. Each hand holding the other's wrist pressed against the stomach instead of resting on his lap, with fingers clenched so tightly that they are undoubtedly leaving fingerprints on the pale skin. In what the demon imagines it’s an effort to keep them from shaking.</p><p>The man is pasty and his smile comes with difficulty, creaking on the sides like hinges without oil. "I- I’m fine, my friend."</p><p>Abezethiel rolls their head towards him from where it's leaning on the wall, their arms lazily crossed over the chest. In the front area of the church, seated side by side on a bench located against the wall where the entrance view is blocked by the confessional, next to the large wooden doors – and it has been a few minutes since an unusual silence reigns in the empty church. After a stilted conversation, full of holes and bizarrely casual and distant considering the topics they have already traveled through, it’s as if the mortal has a ruler in place of a spine and he does not give any signs of relaxing anytime soon.</p><p>The sweet smell under his bitter nervousness and discomfort fills their mouth with water and the devil feels like an addicted child, the urge to <em>try again</em> straining his self-control. A swelling of ideas. “You’re quiet today. And you look pale. Did something happen?” they let their voice drag in a low hum, tranquil, and sees the result in the way Lucas’s breath hitches, shoulders drawing even tighter.</p><p>The mortal swallows and closes his eyes. “I… sorry. I’m not being a good host today, am I?”</p><p>“If you want me to go—”</p><p>He suddenly gains a stricken look, hand flying as if to stop them even though they didn’t move yet. “Please- don’t. I-” Lucas breaths in, haggard. “You’re right. Something-… something happened. And it has been in my mind since. But I’ll stop thinking about it. You don’t have to leave.”</p><p>“If you need to take care of something, I don’t mind. I can come back another day.”</p><p>Lucas shakes his head, hand falling and curling on his lap. “There’s nothing to take care of. It’s just my… my fallible human nature, making itself known.” He gives a faint laugh.</p><p>Abezethiel tilts their head. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>His wobbly smile melts away and he averts his eyes to the ground. Or to his hands, white-knuckled around the black cassock over his thighs and shaking. Doubt and Fear and the other unrestful little emotions seeping out of the mortal are enshrouded by acrid, blanking <em>Guilty</em>, so tangible and caustic in its consecrated nature and it’s a bit like breathing holy water steam, a few droplets precipitating on the inside of their throat and burning trails while trickling down. The soreness on their muscles spasms to biting cramps, causing their wings to ruffle and tail to curl close to their body – Abezethiel breaths through their nose, carefully slow now, teeth fitting together. “I can’t hear a confession, of course, but I can be a friendly ear. God knows I abused yours,” he says after a brief moment to swallow the instinctive hiss.</p><p>“Blasphemy,” Lucas says weakly.</p><p>The demon smiles, ignoring the twinging muscles around their bones.</p><p>Lucas breathes out, closing his eyes for a moment while he bites his lower lip, as if meditating. Or better yet, <em>debating</em>. Arguing. Not doubting but… weighing the two sides of his <em>want</em>.</p><p>What he wants to do, hmm.</p><p>
  <em>What do you want?</em>
</p><p>The aching is dissolving little by little, and the demon inhales something sweet once again amidst the acridness. When Lucas lifts his eyes towards them, the muscles pulling the corners of their smile aren’t hurting anymore. The Guilt still sizzles in the space between the two, angry. Unpleasant. But the mortal raises a hand slowly into this space – discernibly trembling, it halts halfway, unsure. “Can I…?” his voice is thin and small.</p><p>Abezethiel tilts their head, curious. Makes a ‘go on’ sound from the back of their throat, watching the priest’s expression as the hand inches closer to their face. Fingers very gently hold their sunglasses’ right arm and they incline a touch their head as they are removed, eyes closing in reflex. With the familiar weight gone from their face, they blink and lazily glance up to the mortal man.</p><p>His breathing snags, cinnamon eyes flicking between theirs.</p><p>They give him a few seconds, then they drawl out, “eye condition. It runs in part of the family.”</p><p>“Oh.” He hesitates, hand raising a little… only to go back to his lap. “Does… does it hurt?” He asks softly.</p><p>Abezethiel huffs a laugh. “Only if you poke me in the eyes. It’s fine. The sunglasses are to avoid scaring people. Black eyes are disturbing, as I learned.” They give the amusement on their voice a bit of a bitter edge.</p><p>See the results in the way Lucas seems a bit upset. “They are not.”</p><p>“Father—"</p><p>“I think they are beautiful.”</p><p>The demon’s thoughts trail off briefly, as they stare. Lucas quickly averts his gaze, eyes wide and face a bit pale – he looks around wildly, eyes jumping from place to place as if searching for something, an excuse, exit? his expression is of someone who realized they said too much. Of panic.</p><p>“I- what I mean is, amber eyes are very- very—”</p><p>Abezethiel cups his cheek and there’s no real pressure, really, it’s just a touch. Lucas stiffens, mouth half through a sentence left open and he’s not breathing, cinnamon eyes very wide as Abezethiel slides their grip to his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. They close their eyes and slowly, so cautiously lean forward… Lucas drags air in sharply, lets out a tiny sound as their lips meet. A hand grabs their wrist, trembling. Mouth opening against his, the demons lazily taste the soft skin on the inside of his bottom lip, tongue sliding between his lips. Lucas protests, shaky— but he doesn’t move and when Abezethiel sinks deeper into his mouth, the man shivers so keenly they can feel it, can savor the soft vibration the whimper muffled between them causes.</p><p>They cup the other side of the mortal’s jaw, taking his face in both hands as they so tenderly kiss him, and he grasps at their arms too, clutching the suit. The motions are as clumsy as the man’s first time, the lack of sleepiness adding a layer of anxiety he didn’t have before and Abezethiel can feel themselves smiling, just terribly <em>fond</em>. They shift, tilting their head first one way, hands slipping to cup just beneath the jawline, softly trailing their fingertips across the angled bone and then down to the hollow at the base of his neck, tongue couching the man’s in a swirling, warm motion, all slicked and soft. And Lucas is panting a little already, skin hot and flushed under their fingers, his own grip waning in turns as he leans into the kiss little by little, forgetting himself while letting out pitiful little sounds.</p><p>The demon feels the raw <em>want</em> rearing inside, hungry and avid, wanting to sink their claws and teeth. It’d be so easy and sweet – they can recall so well how his arousal felt like, his <em>desire</em>. So shy. So sinless, and yet longing for more – to breach that sweet chasteness, make him theirs in the middle of the church and hear his pleasure echoing against these holy walls.</p><p><em>Wonderful</em>.</p><p>They sigh softly with a shiver, tongue curling away from between Lucas’ lips as they kiss the corner of his mouth, hearing him heave for air, adorably breathless. Trail soft kisses over the well-shaved chin and the right cheek, lovingly and slow, down to the jawline and pressing tongue into the hollow just beneath the earlobe, enjoying the tiny shivers this causes. They slide a hand under the clerical collar, tugging it down to expose a hint of his collarbone. “A- Abel…” the priest interrupts himself with a shaky inhale, fingers curling on Abezethiel ‘s shirt, as the demon lazily sucks over his pulse, feeling the erratic heartbeat under the skin between their teeth. The other hand travels to his lower back and hips in a gentle caress, the well-worn cassock sliding nicely under their palms with a soft sound as they pull back until the mortal’s skin pops out wetly from between their lips. Loving the way he shudders at it.</p><p>Abezethiel hums, moving down to nibble his collarbone. Lucas lets out a small pleading whine, face pressing against the top of their head.</p><p>His heart is a trembling mess of beats.</p><p>“W- wait—"</p><p>Perhaps Abezethiel is getting drunk on this priest’s gentle holiness and the way it mixes so well with the slow rise of his lust, like honey on their tongue, baiting him like the smell of blood in the wilderness. Inciting their most basic instincts. They can feel their wings fluttering slowly open, curling around them both in a pretense of creating privacy. They are still in plain sight to mortals, a few feet from the open doors of the church. Anyone could enter at any second.</p><p>A foolish attempt of overachieving, perhaps, when seducing a faithful soul is already no easy task.</p><p>Abezethiel veers their hand down his middle, parting their lips slightly and delicately caressing their tongue over Lucas’ skin—the priest draws air when they cup between the thighs, rubbing gently. The hands around their suit tighten their grasp and the demon wonders for a moment if he’ll push them away, if he’s drawing the line... Lucas is shaking so badly already-… “N-no, wait- we- we shouldn’t…” He whispers against their hair as Abezethiel slowly, deliberately rubs over his half-hard bulge. The human’s grip is tight on their shirt as he whimpers, arching a little away from the bench. “Abel-…”</p><p>A surge of wanton desire washes through them at the sound of a holy name spoken in such a manner, and the demon lets out a moan-tainted purr. “Father Lucas…” They slide a hand down his thigh and grabs a fistful of the cassock, drawing it up. Lucas makes a choked little noise and desperately grabs their wrist as if to stop them. But his grip is weak. Abezethiel slips a hand under the black fabric and between Lucas’ thighs with his fingers still as shackles, soft cotton of a boxer sliding over their palm as they cup the man’s half-erection.</p><p>His breathing hitches.</p><p>“I wanna make you feel so good,” they say softly and moves their hand. Lucas’ stomach heaves as gasps, his whole being tensing.</p><p>“I’m… I’m a messenger of the Lord. I have s-sworn myself to the church.” He sounds afraid- but his voice is thick, wavering. "I can’t…" Lucas bites his lips as the demon slides their fingers under the waistband of man’s boxers, drawing air deeply through the nose— and let it out in a hoarse moan, burying his face in Abezethiel ‘s hair as they circles his half-hard cock, his hips twitching up. They drag down their hand in a firm hold right to the tip and back a few times, feeling him up inside his underwear, going down to semi-hidden head to thumb the drawing foreskin, rubbing in a circular motion up and down. They can feel the priest’s legs pressing against theirs, the man stifling little moans. <em>He’s enjoying it</em>, the thought it’s as drunk as it’s pleased.</p><p>He’s fully erect now, hot and faintly throbbing in their hand.</p><p>The grip on their wrist tugs weakly as he fights the pleasure. The <em>lust</em>. “Someone c-could see us, please…”</p><p>The demon nuzzles his chest and says softly, “Okay,” before moving away. They reverse the grips, taking hold of the mortal’s hands before they stand up, bringing the priest together with little effort. Lucas stumbles with a surprised hiccup but Abezethiel’s self-control is cracking. Has been since last night. And they don’t wait for him to recover before towing Lucas away from the bench and towards the left of the doors where a wooden, simply sculptured structure is unassumingly tucked on the corner. A cabinet with two compartments, a bigger one with a wooden grid window that does not allows to see inside and a latticed opening on the side, a step on which to kneel.</p><p>It caught their attention the second they saw it on the first day. The way it reeks with <em>absolution</em>, the burnt smell of Divine.</p><p>It makes the reality sizzle, a growl of a griffin rippling over their skin. A threat, but just a threat. They circle the cabinet pulling the staggering priest, whose stammers of protests and feeble attempts to free his wrist halts when the demon opens the door to the confession booth. “What-” he starts, alarmed. But Abezethiel turns to him, hands sliding across the tantalizing arc of the man’s waist. They don’t push or shove. It’s not their style. They don’t have to. When they pivot them both and step forward, the low threshold passes above them as Lucas trips back into the mild darkness, uncoordinated legs not knowing what to do but attempt to not let their owner fall.</p><p>The place is cramped, even though their wings pass through the walls uncaringly. The low celling almost brushes against the top of their head and there are but a few inches of space to each side of their shoulders. When they close the door behind them, it becomes almost stifling. The only light comes from the thin rays of afternoon sun filtered by the wooden grid behind the human. It doesn’t matter to Abezethiel, whose eyes were made in a time before the sun. But the human blinks rapidly, dilating pupils struggling to adapt – his already uneven breathing hastens as he grips tightly to the demon’s shirt, cinnamon eyes wide.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Abezethiel whispers over the arch of one dark eyebrow, kissing it tenderly, “this sin is on me.”</p><p>“A- Abel…” The priest swallows and the aroma of <em>Lust</em> mixes with <em>Guilt</em> and <em>Fear</em>. A moral struggle. Abezethiel feels their mouth filling with water, a sweet trill wanting to leave their throat while they press themselves against the mortal, leaning down to mouth the man’s neck, tongue tasting every inch of available skin and enjoying the way they can feel him gasping softly. Their hands make quick work of pulling up the cassock up to his knees, ignoring the priest’s little protests and attempts to stop them, and pushes the man to the padded ledge serving as a seat. Fingers grabbing the soft flesh of Lucas’ thighs with greed, they feel the muscles there tensing, quivering, putting an attempt to resist… only to give in after a slightly more forceful nudge, parting open to allow the demon to slip between.</p><p>Abezethiel kneels, nuzzling the heaving belly as they shoulder one leg, before tilting their head lower and to the side, open mouth brushing on his inner thigh. Lucas shudders, breathing hitching – he tries to shuffle back, one trembling hand landing on the demon’s shoulder as if to push away. His face is a bright red, brow furred. “This- this is madness, we can’t-” His voice is a rushed whisper, tight with fright.</p><p>Abezethiel flicks their eyes up to meet the scared, mortal eyes, and without breaking contact, tilts their touch further down. The human’s whole body flinches, head pressing back on the wall with a tiny gasp as they slide their tongue over his trapped length, feeling its pulsating heat through the already damp fabric. They grab the boxer’s waistband with the teeth and pull it down, grabbing the hands that try to hold the underwear. The gasp blooms into a whimper as Lucas’ cock slips free, 6 inches and with a nice girth, already all hard and slicked in his own pre, foreskin drawn back to expose the rounded head – throbbing with desire. Drooling. They can only just see the glisten of the fluids trailing down one side, clear beads of pre-- their tongue flicks out, and they drag it gingerly over the head.</p><p>The taste is immediate, salty and personal.</p><p>The man’s hips immediately twitch, a knee hitting the wall, and he muffles a moan behind bitten lips, eyes screwing shut. “Mnh-…” He’s panting softly as they look back at him, chin tucked on his chest and shoulders raised to his ears. With his high cheekbones and double lidded eyes, his previously perfectly combed dark hair has now tussled, cassock pulled up to his hips and draped across his thighs and atop his cock. Boxer’s waistband curving against the underside.</p><p>Gorgeous.</p><p><em>Delicious</em>.</p><p>Groaning lowly, the demon let go of the brunet’s wrists to grab his thighs, pulling his feet off the ground as they push his legs wide apart a moment before their tongue lunge to taste again. Feel the smooth, hot texture, as a surge of liquid comes-- even the thin, watery pre has a musk to it, and the familiar scent fills their mouth in an instant, strong. Warm. Abezethiel ‘s eyes slip shut, and the demon is sucking on the tip, tongue lashing at the slit and they can feel just a hint of the warm liquid inside them as they swallow.</p><p>Lucas twists a grip around their hair, voice wavering and almost in agony, “P-please Abel-… my body belongs to G-God, I can’t- ah…!”</p><p>Abezethiel opens his mouth to slide down the length to the base, tongue spreading flat against the throbbing, silky hot skin, tasting salty and perhaps even a little bit sweet. They can feel the faint veins as they slurp the underside, his heartbeat against their tongue, gently cupping the girth with a hand as they slide up and down, lapping greedily the hard flesh. Lucas writhes, free thigh pressing against them as if attempting to close against the other quivering under their hand, fingers tugging and pushing their head and soon, the mortal man letting out quavering pleads mixing with stifled, soft moans.</p><p>Then suddenly, there’s the creak of someone kneeling on the wooden step and a shy voice speaks from outside the screen and curtain.</p><p>“Father?”</p><p>Lucas widens his eyes, freezing, breathing halting. Abezethiel feels themselves smiling, almost tempted to laugh. Oh, <em>oh, but this is too perfect.</em> They can smell the sin coating the soul outside</p><p>
  <em>And it’s not even their birthday.</em>
</p><p>The demon almost groans at the sharp pull at their hair, panic backing a strength the gesture didn’t have before.</p><p>“Father, are you there?”</p><p>A mix of precum and drool drip from their chin. <em>Good, so good</em>. Their tongue slithers from their mouth to eagerly lick to the dripping head. Lucas's grip is borderline painful now, and the demon feels like purring any second. Their spine tingles with shivers of desire and pleasure. “Y… yes, my child,” he forces out, strained, slightly out of breath, “I’m- I’m here.”</p><p>The woman hesitates, then continues softly, “I could use your guidance, Father.”</p><p>Abezethiel closes their lips tight around the head and sucks. Lucas lets go of their red strands to slap a hand over his mouth, head twisting up against the wall as he clenches his jaw, trying so hard to be quiet… The taste is sinful and luscious and Abezethiel has to hold back the wanton moan rebounding inside their chest. They move without thinking, blood running hot, a hand sliding down to brace at the bottom of the priest’s cock as they draw more of that plumb flesh into their mouth, jaw unhinging slowly to encompass the volume.</p><p>“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” the woman says. “This is my first confession in weeks.”</p><p>Lucas falters in his attempt to pull his hand away enough to talk. Ends up pressing the back of it against his lips a moment longer, throat working as his entire body quivers, taut, pulling air through the nose. “May G-God help you to know your… sins and trust in His… m-mercy,” he finally manages in a mockery of composure, eyes screwed shut. He hastily, silently grabs the rack under the screen, knuckles going white as demon grinds the cock down their tongue, feeling it pulsing with life and at once hard and gently yielding, slick with their precum-tainted saliva, their tongue and lips’ every nerve ending awakening to this known, particular pleasure. <em>Lovely, so very lovely…</em> far from being their first time with a dick in their mouth, the rarity of being a holy, untouched one brings an exciting beauty to every lick, every inch.</p><p>“I have not been the best mother I could, I think, or the best wife. It’s like lately I have been distracted by these thoughts and-”</p><p>They lash their tongue around that bulk in a wide swirl and sucks, drawing in tight and stroking their tongue over the very tip, and the mortal jerks, teeth gnashing together as his thighs encloses around their head, hand pawing their shoulder in a silent, frantic plea that the demon gladly ignores. Abezethiel groans softly as a fresh wad of pre paint a bitter taste on the back of their tongue and they lean down again, starts to bob their head while slurping. The hand grabs a fistful of their shirt, shaking hard – and Abezethiel never before felt such a surge of <em>hunger</em> and <em>self-satisfaction</em> in pleasuring someone in what they consider to be a rather venerable career in the field.</p><p>Tiny, stifled whimpers escape the desperate clench of the human’s mouth as the demon moves, the throbbing cock surging against their palate and straining the back of their throat, each easy bob grinding and soaking the very back of their mouth with the flavor of his pre. The taste slowly seeps up the flat of their tongue, mild, just a little bitter. Their head roll steadily down and up again, fingers curling on Lucas’ thighs that squirms and trembles and try to hug their head, the mortal’s every breath strangled and leaving in shallow, subtly shuddering exhales through the nose.</p><p>The wood creaks under his fingers.</p><p>The woman outside continues her confession. “I try to- to avoid this sinful way of thinking. Of feeling. But doesn’t matter how much I fight, it doesn’t seem to be enough…”</p><p>The quiet, wet smacks of their lips sliding over his cock fill the small place.</p><p>The priest then shudders, mouth snapping open as he arches gorgeously against the confessional’s wall, hand leaving the screen rack to grab the shirt on their back as its sister draws tight around their hair, legs curling against them. And the demon presses down, the path worn but thickly glazed with saliva and pre-fluids as they feel his every throb against their tongue, feeling this sudden high tension in his body— Lucas bumps into the back of their throat as the first surge of seed gushes out. Quickly washing throughout their mouth as Abezethiel sucks and swallows greedily, turbulent heat sliding down their throat, a salty flavor like no other.</p><p>It takes a few seconds. The woman is finishing her confessions as the demon slowly bobs their head, suckling on the man as the rush of cum tapers off. Lucas’ strength ebbs away almost at once, a hand whipping up to muffle a rasping, high gasp, a burst of air as the man whimpers, body breaking into shivers and trembles. The demon stops, licking the cock clean as they find his legs and hand slack atop them, pressing with no more than their marginal weight.</p><p>“What must I do, Father?”</p><p>Abezethiel moves, letting that exhausted human cock finally slips free. They slowly pick themselves up, pushing those now soft legs aside to climb on the seat, one knee over the wood ledge and a hand braced on the wall beside Lucas’ head. The priest has his mouth against the back of his wrist, panting softly and shallow, eyes still tightly closed as he tries franticly to regain control.</p><p>Glancing over him, they smile in fondness.</p><p>They don’t need to cough or clear their throat, don’t need to readjust or recover. They brush their knuckles tenderly over Lucas’ cheek and, simply lowering their voice to an easy mumble, answers the woman, “Repent for your sins, and asks our Lord for forgiveness. No one is above salvation, as long as they regret and don’t repeat their mistakes, child.”</p><p>Lucas snaps his eyes at them, widened.</p><p>“I understand, Father. Thank you.”</p><p>-</p><p>The woman leaves, her soul as tainted as when she arrived.</p><p>Father Lucas cries, tears falling silently from his closed eyes as he covers his mouth with both hands, shoulders shaking. Abezethiel licks the salty drops from his skin, kissing gently his eyelids while they fix his clothes, pulling his underwear over his delicate hips and hiding his beautiful body under the heavy, terrible cassock once more. “Father, don’t cry,” they mumble touching their foreheads together, arms circling the human.</p><p>He shakes his head and reaches out with one hand to grab their shirt, fingers shaking. “Abel…” he sobs, voice quivering. He glances up, expression miserable. “Why?”</p><p>“Because.” The demon wraps a hand around the wrist of the hand still covering the priest’s mouth and pulls it towards themselves. They tenderly press a kiss over his knuckles, speaking in a soft voice, “I’m a horrible person, doomed to Hell since the day I was born. You don’t have to worry, Father, your soul is safe. This sin is on me alone.”</p><p>Abezethiel is not lying. He can see Lucas’ soul and it’s as pure and untainted as before, colored in hues of despair and grief, the blemishes born from their immoral acts nothing but superficial stains that his Guilt is already erasing.</p><p>He is not mad about that, the demon realizes.</p><p><em>Interesting</em>.</p><p>The man stares at them for a moment, eyes a little wide. Then he swallows and his grip on their shirt falls. He hugs his stomach, averting his gaze. “It… doesn’t work like that,” he says, fingers on theirs trembling, but unmoving. He’s not pulling away.</p><p>Abezethiel tilts their head. “No?”</p><p>The priest breathes out and closes his hand over theirs. “No. This- this is on both of us.”</p><p>The demon smiles at that.</p><p>His soul is bright, completely unmarked. <em>Selflessness</em>.</p><p>“Somehow,” they say, “I doubt God will punish both of us.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey guys, feel free to visit me in my <a href="https://whitesheepwrites.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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